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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23930770">Under My Skin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s/pseuds/b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s'>b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>EXO (Band), SHINee, SuperM (Korea Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, EXO - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exo taking care of Jongin, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Bondage, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Recovery, Romantic Angst, SHINee - Freeform, Smut, SuperM - Freeform, Taemin being soft, Taemin taking care of Jongin, taekai - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:01:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23930770</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s/pseuds/b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jongin wakes up in his own bed. In the haze before true consciousness, he reaches out into the empty space where Taemin's head usually rests. Instead of soft skin, he finds a cold pillow that he, quite pitifully, dressed in one of Taemin's worn t-shirts so he can cuddle and sniff it before falling asleep at night. Jongin vaguely remembers getting back, kicking off his shoes and just falling into bed face-first, still in his blood-soaked practice clothes. They are stiff and gross now and his skin feels itchy and cold.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kim Jongin | Kai/Lee Taemin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>188</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lonely</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you, everyone who read this story. I hope you are well. And if you are not, I hope that this story made you feel less alone. I would love to hear your thoughts. &lt;3 If you read this early on you may have noticed that I changed the chapter titles, wrote some poetry for the beginning of each chapter, and got rid of some typos as I read through the completed story once more. ** There are small references to Jonghyun's book Skeleton Flower sprinkled into this story. The biggest one is Jongin getting close enough to Taemin to allow him to feel all his scars and to get to know him. That has always been my favorite part of Skeleton Flower, so I incorporated it here. And of course I want you to know that this moving and beautiful idea is Jonghyun's, not mine. Sending you love &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you-<br/>would it scare you<br/>to know<br/>that all of these poems<br/>are about you?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jongin stares at the blood on the practice room floor. He knows it's his blood in a sort of detached way as he touches his nose, looks at his fingers. They come away red and dripping.</p><p>"Jongin-ah, you're bleeding," Guyoung says, worry in his eyes. Jongin nods, which is a bad idea because it causes a wave of nausea that makes him so dizzy he has to sit down. Blood starts to soak through his pants. Well, fuck.</p><p>“Jongin-ah?”</p><p>“Jongin-ah?!”</p><p>He tries to blink open his eyes, tries to move. There is something cool and hard pressing against his cheek. Is he lying down? He tries not to throw up, tries to follow the concerned voice back into reality.</p><p>He fails.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Jongin comes to on a practice-room couch. The leather is cool against his skin and soothes the nausea still roiling in his stomach. His head hurts like hell.</p><p>“And then he lost consciousness,” Guyoung says.</p><p>“His blood sugar is very low, as I suspected,” a female voice answers. Jongin wants them both to be quiet because his head hurts so much.</p><p>“He is coming to. Kai-ssi, can you hear me?” Jongin opens his eyes. The ceiling lights are blindingly bright and he flinches.</p><p>“I am going to give you some nutrients via this IV,” a middle-aged woman says. She has a no-nonsense haircut and Jongin hates needles, but he is not going to argue with the authority in her voice.</p><p>She sticks a needle into the crook of his arm. It stings a little and feels cold and weird when liquid starts to flow into his vein. Jongin shudders and closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch.</p><p>“You lost consciousness during practice. Your blood sugar is way too low and you look like you have been building up a sleep deficit,” the doctor says. Jongin nods, careful not to move his head too much. The pain is throbbing behind his eyes.</p><p>“You need to rest, eat and drink a lot of fluids.”</p><p>Jongin closes his eyes. “I will be sure to do that,” he lies.</p><p>The truth is that he needs to be up at four tomorrow to get on a flight to Rome, attend a fashion show, fly back the next day to make it in time to shoot a commercial out of town. Then there is some sort of promo photo-shoot, recordings for SuperM, preparations for the next set of EXO shows. Jongin should have protested when they went over the schedules. But that would give him time to spend in the apartment that is too empty without Taemin, who has been in Japan for weeks ow, preparing for his upcoming tour. It would give him quiet time, time that his anxiety would fill with worries about the renewed media attention on him because of his solo debut in two months, on Taemin because of his crazy big Dome tour. The last time there was so much media pressure on them was before Taemin’s solo debut years ago, and they were nearly found out then. Jongin still wakes up from nightmares about the Dispatch photos of them plastered all over social media. Jongin shudders at the memories. So Jongin requested more work, asked for his schedule to be packed as tightly as possible, all so that he won’t have enough quiet time for worries to sneak in, all not to hav o return home so he doesn’t have to sleep in a bed that feels cold and empty without Taemin.</p><p>“Please refrain from any strenuous activity for the next week, your body desperately needs some rest,“ the doctor says.</p><p>“Of course,” Jongin whispers. The world is getting a little fuzzy again. There are clouds on the ceiling, moving slowly, slowly-</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Jongin wakes up in his own bed. In the haze before true consciousness, he reaches out into the empty space where Taemin's head usually rests. Instead of soft skin, he finds a cold pillow that he, quite pitifully, dressed in one of Taemin's worn t-shirts so he can cuddle and sniff it before falling asleep at night. Jongin vaguely remembers getting back, kicking off his shoes and just falling into bed face-first, still in his blood-soaked practice clothes. They are stiff and gross now and his skin feels itchy and cold.</p><p>“Shit, shit, shit,” Jongin mutters when he sees what time it is. He needs to be ready to leave in a fucking hour and he hasn’t packed a thing, yet. The manager is going to kill him. Since his head is still spinning like crazy, standing up doesn’t really seem like an option, so Jongin slides out of bed and crawls to the bathroom on all fours. The place is a complete mess. Jongin avoids the things littering the floor – art he means to put up, dirty laundry, coffee mugs smelling of week-old coffee grinds. Fortunately, there is no time to think about what all of this means, what the state of this place means, why everything in his home and his life is such a mess. Jongin crawls into the shower and lets water run over his disgusting clothes, waits for the warm water to soothe his aching head enough to strip, wash himself, shampoo his hair. He rubs himself dry with a towel he finds crumpled on the floor, throws it into the shower when he is done.</p><p>Jongin throws up on the bathroom floor when he blow-dries his hair, because the sound of the blow-dryer makes his migraine a million times worse. It takes precious time to mop up the mess of bile with the last of his toilet paper. As he flushes it down, Jongin stares into the little tornado disappearing in the toilet bowl and heaves up some more bile.</p><p>Fractures of the past weeks come to him, as always, in the quiet after. They sneak into Jongin’s silences, into the moments when he is not moving, not running to meet a crazy schedule. Jongin rests his forehead on the toilet rim for a moment because he can’t find the strength to get up. There is the echo of blinding happiness for Jongdae, shattered by fractures of memories Jongin tries hard not to think about – destroyed albums and broken flowers, people masked and mummed and protesting. Junmyeon looking really anxious even though he is trying to keep it together for all of their sakes, as always. Late night meetings, determined faces but so much worry underneath. Black bruises under Jongdae’s eye. Jongin lifts his head, stares into the toilet bowl, heaves up some more bile.</p><p>What would happen if anyone ever found out about the future Jongin dares to dream about in his stupidest moments? What if Dispatch gets tired of made-up scandals about him, what if they want something real this time, now that he is going to be in the spotlight for his solo album? What if they feed the resentment brewing against Taemin because he is going on tour in Japan instead of at home, what if they are just spoiling for something truly scandalous to write about? Jongin gets up, stumbles towards the sink to rinse his mouth. Everything tastes disgusting. His face in the mirror is ghostly pale and strangely unfamiliar.  Jongin runs his fingers over his eyes, washes away bile and blood and salty tears. He takes a deep breath, tastes iron. Jongin pulls on what he hopes are clean and dry clothes and throws all necessities into his suitcase. His phone is dead and so is his power bank, so he just drops them in the suitcase with his charger and hopes the manager doesn’t want to get in touch. With two minutes to spare, Jongin pulls himself up using his door frame as support and glances back into the dark apartment.</p><p>He and Taemin bought this place the week after tickets for Taemin’s upcoming tour went on sale and he sold out freaking Tokyo Dome. That week, dreams seemed less impossible, somehow, everything a little more in reach. Jongin's stomach roils, everything turns strangely soft and fuzzy, reality something that can be molded. He misses Taemin so much. When he blinks, he can see  them dancing happily in the empty apartment the first night they spent here. He can hear the echo of their laughter, their whispers, their sighs filling the space with happiness and warm, blinding hope. There are clouds hovering above the dirty floor, touching his ankles. Jongin smacks himself in the face. "Stay awake," he says in his mind or out loud. "Come on, fucking pull yourself together."</p><p>Jongin steps out of the messy, empty apartment. His face looks strange and tired and sad in the reflection of the silver elevator doors. He thinks he might be crying. “Pull yourself together,” he repeats to his pale reflection. He hopes they will be able to make him look human before the flight once he gets to SM.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. End of a Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>4:13 am-<br/>it’s 4:13 am<br/>and i am wide awake<br/>pulling my brain out through my nostrils<br/>i’m so sick of being me<br/>i’m so sick of this disgusting mess<br/>that’s running into my pillow<br/>when i close my eyes<br/>i remember being free<br/>but i suspect even back then<br/>that was a lie.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Twenty-four hours after he left the apartment at the crack of dawn, Jongin is lying face-down on the floor in a hotel room in Rome, dressed to the nines. The fashion show was a flurry of camera flashes and voices, beautiful clothes and faces and bodies, small-talk with important people in the fashion industry, Jongin’s manager making sure he remembered everyone’s names. Jongin thinks he may have passed out on the floor after coming back from the after-party. He politely declined all alcohol as always, but maybe he should have eaten more than that one strange-looking cucumber canapé. His stomach howls in pain at the thought of food and his throbbing headache makes him close his eyes again. The carpet smells like lavender. Jongin tries to take deep breaths, tries to get up, tries to at least turn around, but his body won’t comply. Jongin's head goes to a dark place in the silence of the hotel room. Every day, the comments about Jongdae’s decision get darker, meaner, more aggressive. There have been protests and more broken albums, threats and terrifying ads taken out all over the city.</p><p>Jongin’s phone chimes way too loud next to his head. The screen lights up and despite the migraine ripping his brain to shreds, he finds the strength to tilt the phone, open the video Taemin has sent. It’s a little shaky at first, someone trying to find the right angle to film the dance practice. Taemin is bare-faced, half of his face hidden by a cap, wearing a soft grey t-shirt that is drenched in sweat. He is breathing heavily, has obviously spent the entire day in the confines of the practice room. Music echoes from the walls and Taemin and his team of talented, hard-working dancers run through what Jongin assumes is the final choreography for the “Tiger” stage that will be the first full song for the tour. Jongin bites his lips watching, even now, after all this time, baffled by the energy Taemin radiates. There is no fancy light show, no costumes, no make-up, just him moving his body, and it is spectacular. This is Taemin distilled to his truest core, doing what he loves the most in the world. And Jongin loves, loves him so fucking much. As soon as the song is finished, Taemin takes his phone back and walks to a quiet corner in the hallway just outside of the practice room. He holds the camera close enough that all Jongin can see is his face. He is still breathing heavily, his blonde hair plastered to his skin. Jongin misses him misses him misses him so much.</p><p>“Hi, Jongin-ah,” Taemin says in a low voice, “do you like it? What do you think? Do you think the last pose looks cool or is it too much? And how about that one shoulder thing we talked about, did you see it? Do you think it’s working?”</p><p>His eyes are sparkling with excitement and happiness. “I hope the fashion show went well and you’re already back at the hotel and can catch up on sleep,” his eyes widen, “oh no,” he breathes, “I hope I didn’t wake you! Shit, Jongin, I didn’t even think about the stupid time-difference, I was just so excited to show you the final choreography!”</p><p>He shakes his head, moves even closer to the camera. “I love you,” he whispers, “I miss you so much. I can’t wait to see you again.” He smiles that small, beautiful, secret smile, the one he reserves for Jongin alone. And with that, the video ends.</p><p>Jongin stares at the black screen of his phone, touches his fingertips to the warm glass. He longs, longs, longs. For a brief moment Jongin thinks: I want to go home. But home is now just a messy, dirty place filled with broken things, with too much empty space and too much silence. Home is a dream that seems more daunting, more impossible with every passing day.</p><p>*</p><p>There is a knock on the door. Jongin groans as a way of reply. He thinks he may have passed out for a while.</p><p>“Kai-ssi?” His manager’s feet stop next to Jongin’s head. “Oh God, are you okay?”</p><p>Jongin mumbles a pitiful “yes”. He curls in on himself to avoid the ceiling lights. “Bright,” he whimpers.</p><p>“Shit.” His manager’s shoes vanish. The light dims. Cool air starts to flow over his skin. Gentle hands lift his head up, help him drink a glass of water.</p><p>His manager looks like he hates his job very much when he has to remind Jongin of the live-show SM scheduled for him before he flies back to Korea. They said he should talk to fans for at least fifteen minutes while in Rome.</p><p>“Look, I will try and call them to tell them that you are not well, you are clearly not up to-“</p><p>Jongin shakes his head as much as the pain allows. “No, no, please.” He knows that his manager would get in trouble for it, he has not been working with the company for very long. He touches his hand to the manager’s forearm, squeezes to say a sincere thank you for the offer.</p><p>“It’s fine, it’s only fifteen minutes, I can do it, it’s really not a problem,” Jongin says. He tries to look way better than he feels, lies through his teeth about migraines and meds kicking in and how he is feeling way better already. The manager looks doubtful, but finally nods and leaves him to it, but only after getting Jongin to drink more water and leaving him enough pain meds to kill a small horse.</p><p>Jongin sets up his phone and opens Instagram. He smoothes his hair down, pinches his cheeks, rubs his face. His skin looks gray, a little as if he just walked out of a zombie-movie, so he turns down the lights some more, leaving only the warm glow of a desk-lamp. He gets into bed and lies down as if he goes to sleep with makeup on his face wearing expensive sweaters every day. He tries to get his hair to look pretty on the white pillow, bites his lips to make them puffier and to force some color into them. When he looks almost okay, he starts the live stream.</p><p>Jongin’s voice is a little rough, but he blames it on flying and on being tired.</p><p>“I love you all so much,” he says quietly while reading the comments pouring in. As always, he is completely blown away by the influx of love and support. It makes him forget the pain deep in his bones, the throbbing behind his temples, at least for a while. He reads a long comment written by a girl who has lost her dad two weeks ago and swallows hard against the tears pricking at his eyes.</p><p>He reads out the comment, pauses, looks at the camera for a long while. “I am so sorry,” he says. His voice cracks. “I am so sorry. It is hard, I know. I miss my dad. Every day. Every day. When I am tired and alone like this, away from home, it is worse, I think,” he whispers. He tries to find words of comfort and love and support for the girl still grieving. While he talks, he tries to keep himself from crying, but he is so tired and so lonely and so far away from home and he wants his dad, wants to be held, wants comforting arms, the smell of fresh cut grass, big hands rubbing his shoulders, words of love and acceptance, telling him that no matter the odds, no matter what others say, he should keep believing in his dreams.</p><p>Jongin wants to hold on to his dreams so badly, but they seem so very far, so out of reach it is almost laughable to let himself think about the future he once imagined – a future in which he would come home to excited little feet running towards him, tiny, happy faces frosted with white flour and sprinkles. A future in which he could look up and find the eyes of the man he loves, flour on his dark lashes, a secret, small smile on his lips. Fresh cut sunflowers on the table in the kitchen, like the ones Jongin’s dad used to bring home for his mother every week, tiny pieces of the sun.</p><p>But just like his dad will never bring home sunflowers again, Jongin will never get married, will never hold his own child, he cannot even be seen with the man he loves, has been pretending to be nothing but a good friend to him for what seems like all his life.</p><p>Jongin can hardly read the concerned words flooding the screen because the world is a wet, blurry mess.</p><p>When Jongin ends the live stream after half an hour, his eyes are puffy and red and he is so exhausted he falls asleep in his fancy clothes with his contacts still in.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Blinking Game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>coward-<br/>i drink wine by the gallon<br/>and i swallow all these pills<br/>and i am still<br/>a coward<br/>the world is less scary<br/>when i am sitting in my closet<br/>a tight dark space<br/>it gets very lonely in here.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jongin spends most of the trip back to Korea in a hazy cloud of pain and semi-consciousness. He is taken to the SM building for a meeting before he needs to get ready for a three-day shooting for a big commercial campaign in Busan. His manager tries to make him eat and sleep during car rides and the rare few minutes of stand-still in their schedule. </p><p>Jongin chews his lips bloody on the car ride to Busan. The heavy tiredness in Jongin’s body is starting to pull him back into unconsciousness as they get closer to the city. His head is hurting a little again and he feels like he could sleep for days if he let himself drift off now. He is so tired, he thinks, he is so tired he fears nothing can fix it. There is a deep sadness inside of him, too, the kind that takes hold of him only when he is this exhausted. Things feel strangely empty, somehow, as if he were living in a world suddenly turned gray scale, all muted and bland and strange. Sometimes, Jongin just ends up curling up on his bed when he feels like this, hides from the world for a few days, and cries until he is all empty and numb. Maybe it’s time to do that soon, he thinks as he watches the grey world move past the window.</p><p>Jongin tries not to think about the apartment and how he left it. He knows he needs to face all of this, but he is so tired and so afraid, he just wants to sleep for a while, hide from the world until he feels strong enough to deal with everything.</p><p>Jongin has slipped in a light sleep, his head gently rattling against the cool backseat window, when his phone rings.</p><p>“Hey,” he says through the speaker built into his headphones, “how’s Japan?” Taemin’s face appears on the screen, his hair freshly bleached. “Still pretending to be a natural blonde, I see.” Jongin can hear how fake and sad and tired his forced chuckle sounds. Taemin is bare-faced, his lips set in a grim line.</p><p>“When was the last time you slept through the night and ate a full meal,” he asks, his voice soft and low and full of worry.</p><p>Jongin bites the inside of his cheek, swallows. He doesn’t want to worry Taemin before his big tour, he just wants Taemin to focus on his work and perfecting the stage show. Tokyo Dome solo, that has always been Taemin’s big dream. So Jongin tries, as he has been for weeks now, to make Taemin believe that he is doing well, that all is good. Jongin makes up stories about yummy food he has been indulging and comfy new pillows for their bed that let him sleep better, about vitamin drinks and protein shakes and cute YouTube videos about dogs he supposedly watches to take his mind off things every night.</p><p>“Nini, I just watched a recording of you crying for twenty minutes on Instagram, half-way across the world, looking like you haven’t eaten a proper meal or slept through an entire night since I left for Tokyo.”</p><p>Jongin bites his lips, worries them until he tastes salt and rust.</p><p>Taemin looks tired himself, he is sitting on the couch in the residential hotel he has been living in, close to the rehearsal place he spends most of his time at. He looks all soft around the edges, freshly showered, with his hair sticking up like a fluffy pineapple. It is true, he looks tired, but his cheeks are rosy and he is cuddled up in a soft blanket, a protein-shake and a big bottle of water next to him.</p><p>Jongin gets ready to defend himself, to lie. But all remaining hardness melts from Taemin’s face leaves nothing but deep concern, and Jongin can’t lie to Taemin when he looks like that. “I’m really worried about you, Jongin-ah,” Taemin says, his voice soft and small.</p><p>Jongin chews on his bottom lip some more, a stupid habit he can’t shake. “I… things kind of just… I didn’t really…”, he stutters. He looks up to see if his manager is still listening to music, he really doesn’t want to have an audience for this conversation. “I just-“ he can’t even really put into words the knot of deep worry that has been growing, growing, filling his insides, swallowing up all the things he used to feel and think and want.</p><p>“Jongin.” Taemin touches the glass of his screen, moves in closer. He looks like he is trying to reach through the phone.</p><p>The cars rumbles to a halt and Jongin’s manager pulls off his headphones. There is an explosion of sound and light and hectic energy when he opens the passenger door. Jongin closes his eyes. “I’m sorry, we’re here, I have to go. I promise I will have some food and sleep better, I promise I’m taking care of myself, you don’t have to worry,” he says in one breath. Taemin nods, holds Jongin’s gaze for a moment longer. “I love you,” he says, so low only Jongin can hear.</p><p>*</p><p>The three days of filming pass torturously slowly. Jongin loses consciousness twice, he blames it on the heat, tries to remember to drink more water. Everyone looks pretty concerned, no matter how often he repeats that he is fine.</p><p>Taemin calls twice a day, clearly worried despite Jongin’s efforts to not be a distraction. Jongin shows Taemin the protein shakes he supposedly drinks and the food from catering he supposedly eats, shows Taemin the hotel room he is set up in and the comfy bed he supposedly sleeps so well in. In truth, Jongin’s stomach is in knots and he feels too nauseated to eat much, and his stupid, anxious thoughts about the future won’t let him sleep.</p><p>He falls asleep on the car ride back to Seoul, tired on a visceral level, after three days and nights of worry and cameras and all eyes on him, of heat and hunger and trying to pretend like he is fine so Taemin will be able to focus on his work.</p><p>*</p><p>“I think this series turned out really well, we should try a few more poses in this lighting,” the photographer says. Jongin nods. He is seeing strange black spots that are dancing in front of his eyes like static. And the smell of lemons and salt is making him nauseous. He knows all of those are signs of an impending migraine and hopes he still has some of his emergency medication in his bag somewhere. He just needs a few minutes to sneak away and take them and he will be fine.</p><p>Jongin’s head is already hurting like hell when they take a break and he pretends to go to the bathroom. He empties his bag into the backseat of the car they drove up in and curses when he sees the empty wrappers of migraine medication. Shit, shit, shit. He will have to ask the manager to get some more, but it’s late as hell and he technically needs a prescription for the meds, he just hasn’t gotten around to get a new one in time.</p><p>Jongin crumples in the seat, covers his ears and eyes against the painful noise of the busy set and all the stupid bright lights. He tries to talk himself out of the migraine, to convince himself he isn’t really hurting that much. It’s fine, it will be fine, just a couple more hours until he can run hot water over his throbbing head, hide in a dark, quiet corner.</p><p>Jongin isn’t sure if it’s his migraine aura or if he smells blood because his nose is actually bleeding. But he doesn’t check, because checking would mean light to see and light means pain.</p><p>“Pull yourself together,” he thinks or says or screams. “Come on, a few more hours, just suck it up.”</p><p>Something knocks on the car window. Jongin tries to ignore it. But the stupid, insistent knocking just won’t stop, so he finally uncurls enough to look up, sure to find his manager telling him they have to continue the shoot.</p><p>What he sees instead are deeply worried eyes that are more beautiful, always, than he remembers. There are hidden stars in Taemin’s eyes that never really fade, even in true darkness. The rest of Taemin’s face is hidden behind a black mask and a cap. </p><p>Jongin opens the car door with shaking fingers. He feels strangely numb, the black spots still dancing in front of his eyes, making it hard to see. He half believes he may be hallucinating.</p><p>Taemin looks worried sick. He pulls a familiar looking bottle of pills and a half-finished bottle of water out of his backpack. He kneels in front of the open car door so Jongin doesn’t have to look up at him anymore.</p><p>Taemin takes off his cap, puts it on Jongin’s head so the lights are less bright, and shakes two pills into his palm. He empties two packets of electrolyte concentrate into the water bottle. “Drink up,” he says as he pushes the pills between Jongin’s lips and hands him the water.</p><p>Jongin finishes the entire bottle of sweet and salty water, even though it makes his stomach queasy.</p><p>“I’ll be right back,” Taemin says. He pulls his scarf from his shoulders and drapes it over Jongin’s head, giving him more shelter from the light.</p><p>Jongin curls in on himself and buries his face in the scarf that smells safe and warm and clean, and waits for the meds to kick in.</p><p>Through the familiar noise of the set, he hears Taemin’s voice, usually soft and deep and quiet, rise in anger. It is difficult to make out everything he says through the ringing in Jongin’s head and the car doors. But there is a lot of “how could you” and “irresponsible” and “consequences”. Nobody comes to get Jongin to finish the photo shoot.</p><p>Jongin’s head is still throbbing when Taemin comes back.</p><p>Jongin is pulled up against the hard plane of Taemin’s stomach and chest. Taemin puts his arms around him, rests his chin on Jongin’s shoulder. He makes Jongin drink another bottle of electrolyte solution and pulls a soft sleeping mask over his eyes that bocks out all the harsh light.</p><p>Jongin sighs and leans back into Taemin. He is swimming on a wave of relief as the medication slowly kicks in and the darkness soothes what is left of the pain. He still feels out of it, queasy and strange.</p><p>He tries to apologize to Taemin, for making him worry, for making him come here, but he slips back into unconsciousness before he can say a single word.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. I'm Sorry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>insomnia-<br/>i have a grey pillow to lie awake on<br/>when i am thinking too much<br/>i dream of bird cages on my pillow<br/>of suffocating and grey water washing out of lungs<br/>you have a white pillow for me to sleep on<br/>when everything is quiet and calm<br/>i dream of warm summer rain on your pillow<br/>of the purple electric buzz just before a thunderstorm<br/>of all my favorite songs<br/>would you mind sending me your pillow?<br/>i think it is magic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jongin tries to stand and walk on his own, but he isn’t fooling Taemin, can’t even fool himself into believing he doesn’t need to heavily lean on Taemin to make it without keeling over. The way up to the apartment has never felt this long. All the while, Taemin talks to him, soothing words, all gentle and low, comforting him. Jongin feels like crying.</p><p>When the door to the apartment beeps open and Taemin turns on the lights, he falls silent right away. Jongin can feel him gasp. They stumble around dirty clothes and empty mugs, things discarded in a hurry, broken things that have not been cleaned up for lack of time.</p><p>Taemin takes him to the bedroom and helps Jongin sit down on the edge of the messy bed. There is still dried blood on the sheets. Taemin stares at it, his face pale and drawn. He blinks rapidly, swallows one, twice, again. His eyes catch on the pillow wearing one of Taemin’s old shirts and that is when tears start to trickle down Taemin’s cheeks, dripping into his lap.</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad, Nini?”, he whispers in this soft, heartbroken voice.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Jongin has been repeating these same words in his mind since Taemin knocked on his car window hours ago, says them out loud now, again, again, again. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Taemin shifts, cradles Jongin’s head in his hands. Jongin drops his forehead into the crook of Taemin’s neck, breathes in the warm scent of his skin.</p><p>“It’s okay, Nini, I promise, it’s going to be okay.” Jongin tries to apologize again, but his throat is dry and he feels so strange and so far away, somehow, and he can’t make his lips move.</p><p>“I called SM and asked them to send a doctor to check on you,” Taemin says after a while. “They will decide if you need to go to the hospital.”</p><p>Jongin tries to nod his head, but that, too, doesn’t seem to work. He can feel Taemin’s tears against his own face, dripping into his lap. I’m sorry, he thinks and cannot say, I’m sorry for worrying you. Please don’t cry, I’ll be better, just please don’t cry.</p><p>The doctor that visits doesn’t comment on the mess in the apartment. But he notices the blood on the sheets and asks Jongin about injuries and migraines and nose-bleeds.</p><p>Jongin has to answer a lot of questions, tries to make his body comply. The doctor takes his temperature, makes him do strange neurological tests, shines a light into his eyes that is way too bright. After that, there are more questions, blood filled into test-tubes with red lids that look like cute little hats. Clear fluid is administered via a needle in the crook of Jongin’s elbow while the doctor asks more questions, pricks the pad of Jongin’s index finger and squeezes a tiny drop of blood into some sort of medical device.</p><p>When the bag of clear liquid is empty, the doctor packs up his things and nods. “You need rest, fluids, electrolytes and food. And I mean high calorie food.” He shows Jongin a box of little white packets. “Please mix one of these with half a liter of water morning, midday and night. Drink at least three liters of water a day. Sleep as much as you can, and take these in the evening, they will help your body relax and rest.” He adds a yellow box to the pile of medication on the bedside table. “I will come back tomorrow morning, I will have all test results by then.”</p><p>Jongin nods. Taemin has been quietly watching from the corner of the bedroom, his skin ghostly pale. He asks the doctor to repeat the medication doses and all advice, just to make sure he remembers everything correctly. “I will be staying with him, as discussed,” he says and the doctor nods.</p><p>“Anything changes, the head aches come back, or he seems more disoriented and you call me right away,” he orders and Taemin nods.</p><p>*</p><p>Jongin moans in relief when warm water starts rushing over his head. He closes his eyes, swaying on his feet, trusts Taemin to hold him up and hold him safe. Taemin carefully washes Jongin’s tangled hair, runs his knuckles over the tight muscles of Jongin’s neck and shoulders. He washes Jongin, carefully, and after a long while, when Jongin can hardly stand upright anymore and sleep is tugging at the corners of his mind, Taemin shuts off the water, pats Jongin dry with a fluffy towel, helps him change into clean, soft pajamas. He makes Jongin sit down on the couch, take his meds and drink his electrolytes, while Taemin changes the sheets and picks up the dirty things in the bedroom. Only then does he help Jongin lie down in their bed.</p><p>There must be more, words whispered, lights turned down, but Jongin’s mind blinks out as soon as his eyes close and his head hits the pillow.</p><p>*</p><p>Jongin wakes up on a comfortable bed. It is pitch black, the room cool but not cold. He feels almost weightless in his soft pajama, wrapped up in a fluffy blanket. Jongin slowly sits up. There is no pain and he sighs in relief. He must be late for something, he thinks. He tries to remember his schedule, tries to remember what happened. Why didn’t his alarm wake him? He feels like he has been sleeping for a while, he must have some place to be, right? Jongin blinks his eyes open in the darkness, tries to remember, pats around to find his phone.</p><p>“Hey, shh,” Taemin says, his voice low. “There is nowhere you need to be right now. You worked so hard, Jongin-ah. Rest now. I promise everything will be okay.”</p><p>Jongin sinks back down, rolls into Taemin, resting his head on Taemin’s arm like he always does before falling asleep on the rare nights they get to spend in the same bed. Taemin gently brushes his fingers through Jongin’s hair, the movements slow and soothing.</p><p>“Do you feel better?”, Taemin asks, his voice sleep-soft.</p><p>Jongin sighs, closes his eyes. “Yeah, I feel much better,” he whispers.</p><p>Jongin pushes his nose against Taemin’s skin the way he used to squish his nose against his father’s skin when he was a baby, the way he used to nestle up to his big sisters when he was a kid and scared of the strange noises in the new apartment in the big city. It is only now that he truly feels the weight in his bones, the aches in his joints, the way he has abused his body and his soul. He needs rest and food, he needs a break and the people he loves. “I’m so tired,” he murmurs into the quiet night, “I feel tired in the way sleep can’t fix.”</p><p>“I know.” Taemin keeps carding his fingers through Jongin’s hair slowly. “I promise I will take care of you. Sleep now, it will be okay.”</p><p>*</p><p>When Jongin wakes up the next time, he feels rested in a way he hasn’t felt in weeks. There is still a deep tiredness inside of him, clinging to his heart, but his eyes are less heavy and his head doesn’t hurt. The bed next to him is empty and Jongin’s first coherent thought is: Of course, of course Taemin had to fly back to Japan right away, not long now until his first show of the tour.</p><p>Jongin lies in bed for a while, lets quiet tears drip into the pillow beneath him, tries not to let his worries swallow him whole. Before he can spiral into more anxiousness and terrifying thoughts about the future, he gets up, sways on shaky legs. It takes him a while to cross the bedroom, but he finally pulls the bedroom door open.</p><p>The moment he opens the door he can smell his favorite breakfast foods, spicy and fried so hot they are on the brink of burning. There is light, all soft and warm and easy on his eyes. And spots of colors, everywhere. Flowers and art, photos, all of the things Jongin holds dear put back into their places, dusted and cleaned, the broken things cleared away. There is music, too. Singing. Warmth that sinks through Jongin’s skin, touches the things inside of him that have turned grey and hollow.</p><p>Taemin is wearing faded jeans and a simple black t-shirt, his hair still wet and tousled. His face is bare and open, his skin warm honey, his voice quietly shaping sounds.</p><p>Jongin is still standing on the threshold when Taemin turns around, the kitchen lights a halo around his face. Jongin is so surprised, so scared, so happy, so in love.</p><p>“Jongin,“ Taemin says, a strange, vulnerable tremble in his voice. His eyes turn the beautiful kind of soft that Jongin sees in his happiest dreams.</p><p>Taemin wraps his arms around him and Jongin buries his face against his neck, presses his nose against the warm skin.</p><p>“I missed you so much,” Taemin says into Jongin’s hair. “I missed you so much,” he repeats, and kisses Jongin, all soft and sweet.</p><p>Jongin starts to shake. He feels so much, all at once. “I missed you. I missed you,” he repeats, “I love you, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Taemin pulls back a little, drops from his tip-toes to brush tears from Jongin’s face. His eyes huge and full of concern. “Nini, it’s okay,” he says, “it’s okay, you did good, you worked hard, it’s okay, you’ll get some rest now. We’ll make sure you get some time off to just relax, okay?”</p><p>Jongin inhales deeply, steels himself for voicing all of his fears, but he chickens out in the end, lets the air all out again, deflating like a sad, stupid balloon.</p><p>“I made breakfast,” Taemin says as if this was a normal day, a normal morning. Jongin feels like a character in one of those sitcoms with laugh-tracks, where everything is too bright, too cheerful, where things look almost real but are so very obviously not.</p><p>They sit down on the big, soft couch together, side by side, their bodies touching from their feet to their shoulders, everywhere, close close close.</p><p>“I missed you so much,” Jongin whispers into the coffee cup Taemin carefully places in his hands.</p><p>Taemin smiles his small, secret smile, tilts his head to touch the tips of their noses together. “Nini,” he says quietly before he leans in and kisses Jongin’s lips, soft and warm, lingers for a little while longer without deepening the kiss, as if he cannot make himself let go. When he finally leans back, Jongin chases his lips, kisses him again, again, his breath hitching, tiny sparks of fire springing to life all over his skin.</p><p>They have breakfast on the couch, sharing soft kisses and warm breaths. Sharing, too, ridiculously miniscule things about their past days, dancing around the big things, the terrible things, the things too difficult to talk about, yet. Jongin’s soul flutters in the cage of his ribs, spreading its wings wide now that he is so close to Taemin. He can feel the soft flutter against the inside of his skin.</p><p>After, Jongin takes a warm, warm shower, listens to Taemin singing softly in the apartment, moving about in the kitchen. The doctor comes to check on Jongin. The test results are back and one more medication is added to the list of things Jongin is supposed to take in the morning. The doctor tests Jongin’s blood pressure and blood sugar levels and talks about a scheduled MRI in two days, about more check-up visits, and about more rest, more food, more water and electrolytes. But he doesn’t make Jongin go to the hospital.</p><p>When he is gone, they settle into bed with Jongin’s iPad, some food and tea. They cuddle close and revel in being together after such a long time apart. Taemin tells Jongin that he will have to fly back to Japan tomorrow, earl in the morning, even though he really, really wants to stay. Jongin says “of course” and “please” and “I am so sorry you had to come because I worried you” and promises to take better care of himself, to do everything the doctor says. When Jongin has finished his second protein bar and a cup of warm ginger tea, Taemin turns to him and his face is harder around the edges than it has been, his eyes holding Jongin’s gaze as if in a challenge.</p><p>“Now tell me,” Taemin says, “what this is really about. This is more than the worry about your solo album, this is something else, something more. Cut the shit, Nini, and talk.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Breathe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>mess-<br/>the first time i visited your home<br/>i unpacked my life and<br/>put my heart on your bookshelf<br/>(i am sorry for the mess)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jongin looks at his hands in his lap, at the wall, the blankets around them, his iPad, at everything but Taemin. Because if he looks at Taemin’s eyes, warm golden in the soft light of the bedroom, he will never be able to say what he fears.</p><p>“I read the responses to Jongdae’s announcement every day,” he starts, his voice quiet and shaky and scared. “Every day. The hate and the shit they say, the vile things, how can you wish death and disease on an unborn baby?” He swallows hard, chews on his abused bottom lip.</p><p>“And I can’t help but think: What would they say if they knew about me. Us. What would they do?” His mouth tastes like iron and salt. He tries to inhale, but his lungs don’t cooperate.</p><p>“What would happen? What would the company do? What would it do to our families? Our friends? Our colleagues? What would it do to you?” He dares to look at Taemin then, whose face is unreadable.</p><p>“Taemin-ah, you’re the best. The best and you love what you do. Everyone who has ever met you or seen you move, they all know right away – this is what you are meant to do. How – what – what if that got taken away from you?” His voice is strangely small and it hurts his throat to speak, because there doesn’t seem to be enough air in his lungs. “What if it’s my fault that this gets taken away from you? You have worked all your life for what you have, you work so fucking hard and you deserve the world. What if it’s my fault your dreams can’t come true? What if–,“ the rest of his sentence is just a tiny sound as Jongin runs out of breath completely. He tries to force some air into his lungs. It hurts.</p><p>Taemin looks so stricken, looks like Jongin has punched him in the face, hurt bleeding into the dark honey of his eyes. Jongin touches his own face, tries to rub away the tears that have started to run down his cheeks, his chin, dripping all over his shaking hands.</p><p>Taemin touches his fingers to Jongin’s face, then. They are cool and trembling. “How can you not know?” Taemin asks, shakes his head. “Nini, how can you not know?”</p><p>Jongin swallows around the strange lump in his throat, forces another painful breath into his lungs.</p><p>“How can you not know that you are my forever?” Taemin touches his forehead to Jongin’s, closes his eyes. “I know this all sucks, it sucks that we have to be afraid of being found out. I hate that we can’t even get married legally, it sucks.” Taemin huffs out a frustrated breath. “I love what I do, I love our life, I don’t want any of it taken away. I really, really don’t. But what would it all mean if I didn’t have you?” He pulls back, looks at Jongin with his eyes wide open, so Jongin can see to the bottom of who Taemin is, to the brilliant swirl of colors and light and stubborn determination that is his soul. “The first thing I do when I achieve one of my dreams is share it with you,” Taemin says. “And that makes it real. That makes it mean something. The first thing I do when I make another one of my stupid five-year plans is share it with you because how could I make any plan that doesn’t include you?” He blinks rapidly. “How can you not know, Nini?”</p><p>Jongin thinks it might be his panicked lack of breath, but he is feeling light-headed, strangely detached from his body, all hot and cold at once, his skin rippling and his bones rattling from how hard he shivers.</p><p>“Okay,” Taemin says and rubs his own face hard, “you need to see something. Please don’t say I’m crazy, I was going to share it if it ever, you know – never mind.” He stutters and blushes and Jongin has no fucking clue what is going on anymore.</p><p>Taemin pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen. He looks torn, shy, vulnerable in a way he rarely is as he passes the phone to Jongin.</p><p>For a moment, Jongin can’t see anything because his stupid eyes are full of more fucking tears. He blinks them away angrily. What he sees is a colorful document like many he has seen over the years. Taemin has been making plans, setting long-term goals like this since they were children. There have been documents about getting into a company, filled to the brim with research about different companies, their recruitment processes and training schedules. Ones about buying a home, releasing a solo album, more about choreographing and honing skills, winning awards, playing at venues around the world. Traveling. But the plan Jongin is looking at now is one is one Jongin hasn’t seen, yet. It is titled ‘just in case’.</p><p>“Read it,” Taemin says very quietly. There is a tremble of uncertainty in his voice.</p><p>It takes Jongin a while to understand what he is reading. There are multiple business plans with comments by executive consultants, quotes for appliances, contracts and financial plans, multiple currently open listings for dance studios in and around the city, dates added to show when they were last confirmed to be available. Then there is a long spreadsheet of training schedules and information about licenses to apply to, how to scale up a business, hire employees. About building a client base of upcoming, young dancers who seek to hone their talent, develop their style. And more, plans and research on how to make it as a choreographer, working for an agency, a company, as a freelancer.</p><p>Jongin wipes his tears off the screen. He thinks he has finally stopped crying now, he is too much in shock for that. He can’t stop scrolling through the crazy amount of information, there are multiple financial plans, factoring in different possible outcomes in case of contract termination with SM-Ent., fees and settlements all taken into account, with comments by financial experts. And then, at the end of the file full of baffling things, there is a project sketch titled ‘Nini &amp; Babies’, the first entry in which is a list of beautiful beaches in Japan. Taemin snatches the phone out of Jongin’s hand before he can scroll down any further than that.</p><p>Jongin lets his hands sink into his lap, turns to Taemin. Before he has time to really decide what to do, he is already kissing Taemin. He kisses him once, twice. “I love you,” he says, “I love you. I love you.” They kiss until the world is soft and Jongin’s body is floating. Jongin shoves his hands under Taemin shirt and starts pulling it off.</p><p>“You are stupid if you think I would ever give you up,” Taemin gasps into Jongin’s mouth. He pulls his head back to take a deep breath, but buries his fingers in Jongin’s hair, presses his body closer closer until there is no space left between them. “It would suck so bad, so bad if things had to change and it scares me, too, so much,” he says, his eyes open and honest. “But they can’t take dance from us. And they can’t take away the people who matter the most. Because they already know who we are and who we are to each other.”</p><p>Jongin nods and bites Taemin’s jaw, his neck, pushes him back against the bed, straddles his hips. Jongin pulls off his pajama shirt and Taemin’s eyes roam all over Jongin’s body. Jongin can see him swallow hard. Taemin shakes his head, swears under his breath, looks tempted as all hell. “You desperately need rest, Nini,” he says, his voice rough, “and this won’t lead to rest, will it?” There is a molten heat in his dark eyes that makes Jongin’s skin tingle all over in anticipation. He pulls Taemin in for a deep, wet kiss and they’re both breathless when he pulls away.</p><p>“Nini,” Taemin says, shaking his head, “rest.”</p><p>Jongin nods, but he moves against Taemin’s body in a wave, drops kisses all over Taemin’s neck, his shoulders, licks along the curve of his collar bone. “Please,” Jongin says against Taemin’s smooth skin, “please, please.”</p><p>Taemin inhales sharply, grips Jongin’s hips tightly and halts his movements. Taemin closes his eyes for a moment, swallows. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “but just – let me – just relax and let me take care of you, Nini, okay?”</p><p>Jongin nods, promises to be good, so good, says anything that will make Taemin release his hips, touch him again, kiss him again, move against him, come closer closer closer.</p><p>Taemin pulls Jongin up from the bed, walks him to the bathroom and turns on the shower warm enough to make the world a little hazy. He pulls Jongin under the spray, kisses him with wet lips, touches him everywhere, everywhere. He presses Jongin against the warm tiles of the wall, pins him in place with his body.</p><p>“Fuck,” Taemin breathes against Jongin’s neck when they are touching head to toe, all wet, slippery skin. “Oh fuck.”</p><p>When they are clean and dry and Jongin is lying on his back in their soft sheets, Taemin crawls all over Jongin, makes Jongin sob and moan and sigh, loves him gentle and sweet and so deep Jongin feels owned, feels safe, as if loneliness could never really hold any real power over his heart again.</p><p>After, they order food and Jongin drinks more gross electrolytes, eats more protein bars. They snuggle into bed and watch a movie on Jongin’s iPad. Taemin traces lazy patterns on Jongin’s arms, his stomach, pinches the skin there, making a tiny elephant. Jongin smiles until his cheeks hurt, remembering the first night they ever spent in each other’s arms. They’d fallen into Taemin’s bed together, all heated crazy static around them. Taemin had run his hands and his eyes all over Jongin, and Jongin had been so overwhelmed, so flustered by the compliments spilling from Taemin’s lips. Taemin had gasped, his eyes still roaming over Jongin’s body, his hands trembling, fumbling, as if he had no idea what to do. And then, in the midst of the crazy heat and the crazy nerves, Taemin had stopped in his tracks, and this soft, rare, beautiful smile had broken out all over his face. He’d leaned down, pinching Jongin’s stomach-skin. “Look, you have a little elephant here,” he’d laughed, making a tiny trunk of skin just below two small, brown moles on Jongin’s stomach. Jongin had felt his heart trip over the edge, had known in that moment that he was in love.</p><p>Jongin buries his face in Taemin’s neck and inhales the scent of home. “Thank you for coming back,” he says. “I’m sorry for ruining your schedule.”</p><p>Taemin cards his fingers through Jongin’s hair. “It’s okay,” he says, “just promise you’ll try to tell me sooner if anything ever worries you this much again.”</p><p>They stay wrapped up in each other, talking about their fears and their hopes, about everything that has been eating at Jongin, about the anxiety in their blood, about all the crazy, nerve-wrecking things that are planned for the upcoming months. Taemin has to leave for his flight in the pale blue hours of early morning. When he is gone, Jongin lies back down in the empty bed, holding on to the feeling of warm skin against his body, words of love whispered into his hair, beautiful promises tucked safely away in his heart. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Just Chill</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>truth-<br/>you cooked for me once<br/>and i said<br/>it’s delicious<br/>what i meant to say was<br/>i love you.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taemin makes Jongin see one of the company’s councilors when he is well enough to leave the apartment for a bit. Well, he doesn’t make him, he just asks in this tiny, concerned voice and Jongin promises, promises that of course he will, of course, anything, anything that will ease Taemin’s worries. The councilor is a nice woman in her thirties with her hair in tiny curls and a lot of sunflower yellow pillows in her office. She listens, and she is very kind, quieter maybe than Jongin anticipated. There is a strange thing about the way she hears what he is saying even if he is afraid he can’t quite find the right words to express what he feels. And it doesn’t take long for Jongin to trust her, to trust that she sees the person behind his name and his face, the strangely fragile pieces of his soul he is trying so hard to hold together.</p><p>“You seem very good at taking care of others,” she says one afternoon, while Jongin chews on his bottom lip and plays with the tassels of a sunlight pillow. Jongin smiles shyly.</p><p>“But you don’t trust those you love to take care of you in return?”</p><p>Jongin huffs out a surprised laugh and tells her that Taemin says this to him all the time, albeit in less polite words - “Jonginnie, how come you are so awesome at taking care of everyone else and so very shit at asking for help, huh?”</p><p>“Well, that’s another way to put it,” the councilor says and squints her eyes shut in laughter so contagious Jongin feels it catching like light in his chest, reflected on the shiny surfaces of his soul, making everything a little brighter and a little lighter. And then the councilor’s smiling eyes hold Jongin’s gaze. The is a quiet kind of strength to her that doesn’t tolerate any bullshit. “So why don’t you? Trust others to carry you for a while?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Jongin admits. He leaves that afternoon, deep in thought. About his sisters, who gave up their friends and their lives very young to move across the country so Jongin could pursue his dream. About his parents, living apart, his father alone in their village, his mother taking care of three kids in a big, new city. When he mixes his electrolyte drink for the evening, Jongin picks up his phone, weighs it in his hand for a while, contemplating.</p><p>Finally, he dials a number he knows by heart.</p><p>“Jonginne,” his eldest sister greets.</p><p>Jongin swallows, closes his eyes. “Hi,” he says, his voice quiet and unsure. He looks at his fingers, still too thin and shaking, the beds of his nails bloody from how much he has picked at them out of nervous habit. He takes a deep breath and tells his sister how he feels. How he worries. How sick he got because of it. About how sad and tired he feels, all the time.</p><p>It is the start of many conversations between Jongin and his family, his friends, the people he loves most in all the world, the people he trusts with the most fragile parts of himself. Things change in little ways in the weeks that follow. Chanyeol drops by one day, grocery bags in hand, and cooks delicious food they share with Sehun, who arrives after a late day shooting his new drama. The next day, Baekhyun shows up with his iPad and a bucket of fried chicken and gets Jongin hooked so badly on Stardew Valley that Jongin thinks he might never again want to do anything but plant parsnips and milk cute digital cows.</p><p>Wonshik, Moonkyu and Kwonho come by often, each bringing food and movies and warm hugs. Jongin spends three days building a Lego giraffe with Wonshik. On day two, when they are assembling the giraffe-torso, Jongin quietly pours out all that has been weighing on his heart. It feels scary and strange that someone knows, that someone besides Taemin knows the deepest, blackest parts of Jongin’s soul now.</p><p>Important people from the company call Jongin every day, asking if he is feeling better. They tell him they are concerned for him, of course, but underneath there is this sense of urgency, the unmistakable message that Jongin needs to get better soon, because they are losing too much time and money while he is what they call “resting a bit”.</p><p>Junmyeon is sitting next to Jongin when they call the tenth day in a row. He has brought delicious, expensive steak and sweet mochi for desert. Junmyeon listens to Jongin’s part of the conversation and, when it is over, asks Jongin sweetly what it was they told him. He nods, his smile slipping from his lips, when Jongin recounts the conversation.</p><p>Junmyeon leaves that night with a pretty scarf around his neck and tight lines around his mouth. And the next morning, the CEO of the company himself calls Jongin after breakfast. He apologizes for disturbing Jongin and tells him flat out that he should take as much time as he needs, use all resources available – councilors, doctors, anything he needs. That he should not feel pressured to return to work earlier than he feels he is ready for. That the company owes him so much for all the hard work and soul he has put into everything he has done since he signed with them. That they cannot repay it and that Jongin should please rest and get well and call if he needs anything, call if he wants to get back to work so they can discuss the pace and everything else. After the call ends, Jongin sits on his couch, completely baffled. He thinks, not for the first time, that he is very glad Junmyeon is on his side.</p><p>Taemin sends flowers, sends food deliveries to Jongin’s door, teddy bears and Lego sets. They video chat as often as Taemin’s tight schedule allows. Jongin helps monitor Taemin’s practices and, when the tour finally kicks off, his stages after each show. They spend the nights talking over fine points in the choreography no one else really cares about or notices, perfecting, perfecting. Those nights make Jongin miss dancing again, make him realize that slowly but surely all the rest and the food and the medication is making his body stronger, giving him the energy to want things, to feel things other than tiredness and emptiness and fear. He falls asleep most nights talking to Taemin, his nose almost touching the screen of his phone, Taemin’s smile the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes and the first thing he sees when he starts to dream.</p><p>When Taemin can’t call, Junmyeon and Baekhyun start staying over, cuddling him close like they used to when they were younger and Jongin was running a fever, away from home and scared and lonely. Jongin thinks they might be coordinating their schedules behind his back, because sure enough – if Taemin’s schedule doesn’t allow for a late-night video call, Junmyeon or Baekhyun will appear at his doorstep around dinner-time, delicious food in tow, ready for a chill evening and a night spent holding Jongin close.</p><p>When Jongin has been eating well and sleeping well long enough for his body to heal, to regain some of its strength, Jongdae goes on a long walk along the river with him. He slips his hand into Jongin’s, draws him close, and together they talk about the future, no matter how scary it may seem. Jongdae sings for him, all quiet and beautiful, and shows him a black and white picture of his unborn daughter. There is something so fragile about the piece of paper in his hand, about what it means, about the way his voice breaks and his eyes light up when he speaks about her and her mother. And for the first time in a long time Jongin truly understands how much bigger life is than their jobs, than their art, than the tight schedules and tighter contracts. He hugs Jongdae tight, that beautiful, fragile photo between them, and promises that things will be okay, that they will find a way to make them okay.</p><p>When the tabloids start to report on Jongin’s health after he got photographed on his walk with Jongdae, speculations start to grow like weeds on the net. Jongin tries to ignore them, but all day he sees comments, people claiming they know for a fact that he is drinking too much, that he is secretly dating this idol, this model, this actress, that he has been overworked by his company, that his mother is sick, that his supposed girlfriend secretly had a baby. It is dizzying and it makes the worries rear their disgusting serpent-heads again, twisting inside of him, making it hard to breathe, to think.</p><p>That Friday, Baekhyun is seen dressed to the nines in front of a famous restaurant in Gangnam, clearly on a date with one of the hottest socialites of the year, who has a bit of a reputation for dating and discarding unsuspecting, pretty men. He is photographed holding her hand, his head tilted close to her face, a bright smile on his lips. It is all everyone talks about on the net and in the tabloids for the next two weeks.</p><p>Jongin returns to work slowly, one short practice session at a time. The company helps set up a flexible plan that allows Jongin to test his strength and his mental health, change things if he needs to. And they let him take two whole weeks off after the first set of photoshoots, recording sessions and rehearsals for the pushed-back release of his solo album.</p><p>The day the first teaser photo for the album drops, Jongin looks at the quiet life he can see in his eyes, the rosy tint to his cheeks that did not have to be added digitally, the strength in his body. He looks so relaxed in the photo, so happy, he looks like a human being with a soul, the wine-red of his suit flattering his tan skin. Jongin feels giddy with happiness when he reads through the promotional schedule attached to the teaser.</p><p>The photo explodes all over the internet and Jongin is once again blown away by the wave of support and love he receives.</p><p>That night, a huge bouquet of sunflowers arrives at his door in Taemin’s name. Attached is a printed version of his teaser photo with the message “wwwwwoooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwww!!!!” attached to it. Jongin calls Taemin over dinner and Taemin, already sitting in his hotel-room bed in an oversized t-shirt, grins when he sees the flowers on the table and chatters animatedly about how excited he is for Jongin’s album. They talk about their schedules and their days, about big things and things so unimportant they will be forgotten by tomorrow. They talk while Jongin gets ready for bed, talk with their phones propped up against pillows, so close and too far away. Talk about their travel plans, the resort in Bali Jongin booked for them, the scuba diving spots they want to check out together, the local dishes they want to try, the remote spots on the island they want to explore.</p><p>“Only four more days,” Jongin whispers into the night, “I can’t wait to see you again.” He has already assembled his travel folder (bright yellow with little bears printed on it) for his trip to Tokyo to see Taemin’s last show of the tour and for the two weeks of traveling they will get to do after.</p><p>Taemin smiles his small, secret smile, his eyes shining. “Four more days,” he repeats, happy happy happy.</p><p>*</p><p>“OH MY FUCKING GOD” is playing on repeat in Jongin’s mind. Because Taemin is dancing, all alone, on the stage in the middle of Tokyo Dome. The deafening cheers have stopped for now, everyone is quiet, quiet, as he covers his hypnotic eyes with an elegantly curved arm, turns, tilts his head back and sings with all of his soul.</p><p>Jongin is so proud. And so happy. And so in fucking love.</p><p>When the song ends, Jongin is on his feet, cheering with everyone else, wrapped up in a sea of pearl aqua light and shining eyes. “OH MY FUCKING GOD” his mind repeats.</p><p>It is almost impossible for Jongin to match the Taemin that finished the performance of his lifetime on that giant stage just minutes ago with the man sitting on a plastic chair, scarfing down a sandwich, chattering animatedly with his backup-dancers in fluent Japanese around huge bites of bread and meat and veggies. He looks so tiny, so human and so real, his makeup running down his face, his small frame dwarfed by the washed-out hoodie he pulled on over his last stage outfit.</p><p>When he spots Jonign, Taemin jumps up from his chair, clearly misjudging the current state of his leg muscles as he wobbles dangerously for a moment. Jongin catches him around the waist and wraps him up in a hug so tight tight tight until there is no space left between them, until all he can see and smell and feel is Taemin. “Oh my God,” he says into Taemin’S ear, “oh my God, oh my God.” Taemin hugs back, just as tightly, buries his face in Jongin’s neck, spilling sandwich crumbs all over him.</p><p>They celebrate that night the way they have been celebrating every big achievement since they were teenagers: By ordering fried chicken, stuffing their faces and watching old Ghibli movies in bed until their eyes won’t stay open any longer, touching head to toe, their legs and their hearts tangled.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Skeleton Flower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>true love-<br/>when i die and they scrape the skin from my bones<br/>they will find scratch marks on my sternum<br/>where people have tried to get to know me<br/>to possess me<br/>to hold me<br/>to keep me safe<br/>but they won’t find marks in the shape of your fingers<br/>because when i offered<br/>you kissed my temple and said:<br/>keep your beautiful heart.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jongin is staring at his reflection in the tiny mirror of an airplane bathroom. His skin is sallow and shines with cold sweat. He tries to forget the things he read, the speculations about him, about Taemin, the pictures of them, behind the scenes of Taemin’s Tokyo Dome show.</p><p>The plastic tiles covering everything around him rattle, rattle, like his thoughts, like his heart, crazy anxiety a painful electric current in his veins. He can’t breathe.</p><p>Can’t.</p><p>Can’t breathe.</p><p>He is the reason they are saying vile things about Taemin, the reason they are belittling him, making all of his accomplishments seem like things to be brushed aside with a few vile words.</p><p>Jongin’s chest rises and falls too fast, too fast, everything racing, tumbling, off course somehow, even though he thought he was finally getting better. The world is dotted with strange black spots that just won’t stop rattling, rattling, like the plastic world around him.</p><p>He wants it to stop so bad. Deep down, there is an old knowledge, a path he stopped following years ago. It whispers to him now, so Jongin crouches down, everything getting a little darker yet, and rocks his head against the hand hold next to the plastic toilet seat. Again. Again. Again. Again.</p><p>Again.</p><p>His temple starts throbbing, the world a kaleidoscope of pain and colors that don’t make any sense. The rocking, the pain, it brings him back from the edge, makes his breaths come easier, his chest finally expanding again, filling his lungs with welcome air that smells sharp, sour, stale - like ammoniac, like cheap grey paper towels, like recycled air.</p><p>There are scars buried between Jongin’s toes, scars no one has ever seen, secret things Jongin tries to forget. Scars made by razorblades and kitchen knives, reminders of a time when Jongin was very young and very scared and he didn’t know how to feel better without the hurt. Jongin thinks about them while he breathes deeply on the bathroom floor, his hair sticking to his sweaty skin.</p><p>It takes him a long time to calm down and there is a line for the bathroom when he finally returns to the cabin. He feels his cheeks grow hot in embarrassment, ducks down to hide behind his hair. Thankfully, Taemin is asleep when Jongin returns to their seats. Jongin sits back down, closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind, tries to be better, to be okay.</p><p>Taemin wakes before the landing, looking all soft and pretty and rumpled and Jongin’s heart hurts because he is so in love and so scared that he will be responsible for Taemin getting hurt.</p><p>Taemin rubs his eyes while waking up, purses his lips like a little duck. He blinks, turns his head to find Jongin.</p><p>“Nini, what happened?” He asks when his eyes finally focus, worry creasing the skin around his eyes. He pulls Jongin close, buries his face in Jongin’s neck. “Are you okay?”</p><p>Taemin is all muscle against Jongin, his shoulders wide, his arms holding him safe. There is a steely strength to Taemin that is difficult to see at first glance, but that vibrates off him when you are close. Jongin sighs into the embrace. It takes him a while, but finally he tells Taemin about what happened in the bathroom, about the worries wreaking havoc in his chest and his mind. There is a part of Jongin that whispers to keep it all a secret, to make decisions based on his fears, to leave, to let Taemin go so he won’t get hurt. But Jongin will not protect Taemin by being dishonest or taking away his choices.</p><p>Taemin pulls him closer, still, unaware of the struggle in Jongin’s mind, whispers into his hair, soothing things, words of love, running his hand up and down Jongin’s back in quiet comfort.</p><p>*</p><p>They ride to the resort Jongin booked in an open taxi without seat belts. The air of Bali smells of the sea, of adventure and frangipani blossoms. Jongin feels far away from home in the best way. He can feel the breeze calm his nerves a little. </p><p>The resort is a remote place, hidden in the deep-green rainforest, close enough to the ocean that the sound of the waves mixes with the quiet murmur of wide leaves. Everything is dotted with colorful blossoms, deep red and bright yellow. Jongin made sure they would have privacy, made sure to choose a place remote enough and expensive enough, with good security and lots of private space. Because he needs to feel like he is safe. He needs to feel like he can be alone with Taemin, be his true self for a little while.</p><p>Their bungalow opens into the rainforest, thick, rich green all around them, flowers and vines growing from the wooden roof like a canopy. The bed is made up in all white, flowers dotting the covers, flowers in the huge bathtub, too, where the staff have drawn a perfect bath for their arrival.</p><p>Taemin looks speechless when they enter the bungalow, his eyes wandering from the bed to the luxurious bath, everything illuminated by tiny fairy lights glittering in the ceiling like stars. Taemin looks very shy, his eyes deep and happy and sprinkled with the reflection of artificial stars. Jongin thinks that he is the luckiest man on earth. </p><p>They take a bath and wash up, trading lazy kisses, flower petals sticking to their skin.</p><p>“I can’t wait to spend all this time with you,” Taemin whispers into the night. He is still sore from the tour and Jongin massages his tight muscles while they float lazily in the warm water of their bath, until Taemin is all soft and pliant against him.</p><p>In the following days, they explore the island, walk and walk and walk under the heat and in tropical rains, eat lots of delicious food, discover incredible art and temples, visit bat caves and beautiful beaches and get lost on their scooter but find a tiny stall selling the most delicious sweet yams because of it.</p><p>Every morning, they wake up wrapped around each other and Taemin leafs through Jongin’s carefully put-together folder, decides what they should do for the day. They go scuba diving, see eerie sunfish and reef sharks and lie on deck of their diving boat after, basking in the sun and feeding off the lazy buzz of the added nitrogen in their blood.</p><p>On their fourth day on the island, they go for a night dive just after sundown. Jongin almost loses his mind when they submerge, because it is as if they are floating in a magical, hidden universe full of bioluminescent stars. He reaches out his hand in wonder, runs it through the glittering little dots of light, interlaces his fingers with Taemin’s, and forgets the rest of the world.</p><p>After, they return to the quiet, private beach at the end of a long path of stone steps that runs all the way down from their bungalow. They share a dinner of fried meat and sweet fruit sitting underneath the wide night sky, starlight dripping into the ocean at their feet, reveling in being alone and together without hurry for once. Jongin can still feel his ever-present anxiety like an electric current running through his veins, can feel it pulsing below his skin. Jongin lets himself feel the restless energy of it but reminds himself that he will not let it dictate his life.</p><p>The air smells of impending rain, of magic. Taemin is monochrome in the starlight. Jongin takes his hand and lays two matching silver rings into his palm. “Be mine?” He asks, quiet and simple.</p><p>The tropical rain starts to fall just as Taemin’s lips connect with his. Taemin showers Jongin’s face with kisses, smiles his happy, secret smile and says “yes” and “yes” and “always”.</p><p>Big, warm raindrops soak through their clothes as they head up the stairs to their bungalow and they revel in the sound of the rain on the leaves all around them as Taemin draws them a bath. The air is swimming with sound and magic and Jongin runs his fingertips over the matching silver on their ring-fingers.</p><p>Jongin pulls Taemin from the bath, dabs his skin with a soft towel and leads him back into the main room, the smell of rain and flowers everywhere, kissing, kissing. He makes Taemin kneel in the middle of the room, close his eyes, tilt his face up. Jongin says “stay just like this” and goes to sit on the bed. He watches, all quiet, revels in the sight of Taemin’s pale skin, still damp from the bath, his pretty dark lashes, the expanse of his chest, his shoulders, the elegant curve of his neck. Taemin swallows again, again, but keeps silent because he knows he is supposed to. Jongin can see the pulse in Taemin’s neck beating a crazy staccato of anticipation.</p><p>Jongin finally gets up again, tells Taemin to keep his eyes closed, touches his fingers to Taemin’s jaw, runs his thumb over the seal of Taemin’s lips, presses against the soft warmth. Taemin touches the tip of his tongue, wet and hot, against Jongin’s thumb, sucks it into his mouth. Jongin shivers, bites his lips to keep all sounds inside. He pulls his hand back and runs his fingers through Taemin’s soft hair, pulls tight.</p><p>“Open your eyes,” he says. The impact is staggering, Jongin thinks he might never get used to this, to the image of Taemin like this for him.</p><p>Taemin says “please” and Jongin makes him tilt his head back, open his pretty lips, and take his cock deep and wet and messy. It’s very difficult to stay upright when his world is reduced to the feeling of heat around him, Taemin’s tongue running wicked patterns all over his sensitive skin.</p><p>“Oh god,” Jongin moans, his voice wrecked. He tries to keep his eyes open, to watch, to see the wet shimmer on Taemin’s pink lips, the way his throat works as he swallows around Jongin. Jongin steadies himself with one hand on Taemin’s shoulder, feels the tight muscles below smooth skin. There is so much strength to Taemin and it is intoxicating to see him surrendering it all like this. Jongin pulls on the wet, blonde strands of Taemin’s hair, makes him go deeper, deeper, until Jongin has to hold his breath and bite his tongue to keep from tumbling over the edge of the world.</p><p>Jongin moves back then, gently wipes the spit off Taemin’s plump lips. Taemin looks desperate and lost both, his eyes following Jongin’s movements. Jongin makes him get up, lie back on the bed, his arms stretched over his head. He binds Taemin’s wrists and his eyes with cool silk and starts to unravel him slowly, methodically, running his tongue and his hands over the most sensitive parts of Taemin’s skin, finding all the places that make Taemin shiver. Jongin bites Taemin’s pale skin hard enough to make him beg and sob and plead.</p><p>Jongin ignores all pleas for more, for faster, for please, oh god, mess me up, fuck me, please please please, continues to suck pretty marks onto Taemin’s smooth skin, until Taemin is a quivering mess of want, shattered open, goosebumps rising underneath Jongin’s lips.</p><p>Only then does he unravel the silk covering Taemin’s eyes, does he stretch out against him, touching everywhere. Taemin’s eyes are unfocused, glazed, pleading. Jongin nudges Taemin’s thighs apart and holds his hips down with a grip tight enough to leave colorful bruises. Taemin gasps into Jongin’s mouth, groans deep in his chest, tries to say “please” but can only sob out nonsensical sounds that all sound like Jongin’s name.</p><p>Jongin smiles and pauses, drunk on the feeling of being so close to Taemin, of being the one making him want like this, need like this.</p><p>“Please,” Taemin moans, his voice rough and all kinds of messed-up, “please, please please please please-“</p><p>Jongin bites Taemin’s lower lip, hard, and pushes inside of him until he bottoms out, all tight, wet heat around him. He drops his face into the beautiful arch of Taemin’s neck, words of praise and love spilling from his lips.</p><p>Taemin scratches his fingernails down Jongin’s back, wraps his strong, lean legs around him and rocks up, trying to get closer still. He is still begging, begging for more, for faster, deeper, please please-</p><p>Jongin fucks him rough and messy, biting his neck, his jaw, his lips, getting lost in the crazy crackling energy between them, making the air buzz electric.</p><p>When they finally come apart together, Jongin’s body hurts in the best way as he falls, the world nothing but bright-hot bliss.</p><p>After, Jongin lets himself be wrapped up in Taemin’s arms, cuddles close and rests his head on Taemin’s broad chest. They listen to the beat of the rain and the sounds of the night. There is magic in the air, still. Jongin presses close, close enough for Taemin to feel the love pulsing over Jongin’s skin, the happiness in his blood, the anxiety still buzzing in his mind. Close enough for Taemin to feel all the wounds deep inside of Jongin, all the scars, so Taemin can know all of him, everything.</p><p>They fall asleep like that, their bodies and their hearts tangled, Jongin scared, still, but also unbelievably, blindingly happy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you, everyone who read this story. I hope you are well. And if you are not, I hope that this story made you feel less alone. I would love to hear your thoughts. &lt;3 If you read this early on you may have noticed that I changed the chapter titles, wrote some poetry for the beginning of each chapter, and got rid of some typos as I read through the completed story once more. Sending you love &lt;3</p>
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